The Power of Blue
by Aelia O'Hession
Summary: A chance meeting with a young woman challenges all of Det. Don Flack's detective morals. Will he be able to put aside those rigid morals to save the woman when she needs him the most?
1. Rough Day

**The Power of Blue**

**By: Aelia O'Hession**

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am merely borrowing the genius of another for my own sordid needs. Therefore, I own nothing dealing with CSI: NY.

**Chapter 1: Rough Day**

Today was an absolute disaster. Fed up with my fortune, I shove the pub door open and make a beeline to the bar. I slump heavily onto the barstool and bury my head in my arms on the bar.

"Can I get ya somethin', Miss?" the barkeep asks me.

"Pint of Guinness."

"Ya got it." The barkeep shuffles away to draw from the tap and take care of other customers.

In the corner of the bar is a group of people, still dressed in their work clothes, enjoying a few laughs. Part of me wishes that they would leave, so I can wallow in peace, but I realize that such a wish is terribly selfish. I shouldn't make others suffer just because I've had a terribly shitty day.

The barkeep sets the pint in front of me, and I smile gratefully. The first sip of the heady draft slides easily down my throat, bringing immediate relief to my jangling nerves. Sinking low over my beer, I listen to the live band playing rowdy Irish pub songs. The combination of beer and music restores my lost comfort level and slowly puts me at ease; enough so that I begin to forget just how poorly my day had been.

I am suddenly pulled from my reverie by a hand resting on my shoulder. "Everything all right, Miss?"

Turing my head to look at the speaker, I push my long brown waves away from my face. I look up only to find myself face to face with the most startling pair of blue eyes I have ever seen. I blink for a moment before responding with, "Everything's fine."

The man with piercing blue eyes studies me for a few moments. I really wish he would just leave me alone. There's no need for him to get involved with the mess that is my life. Instead of leaving, like I want him to, he sits on the barstool next to me. "You sure don't look like someone who's 'fine.'"

I turn away from his piercing blue gaze. "It's nothing."

"Alright, how about a different question?" This abrupt change in topic forces me to look at him again. "What brings you to this fine establishment?" He gestures widely to the pub.

"It's the closest source of alcohol to my new apartment." In spite of myself, I give a wry smile before sipping on my Guinness.

"Ah, so you're new to town." I give a nod of confirmation. "What brings a pretty thing like you to the wilds of New York?"

To hide the blush that creeps across my face, I take a long draught of beer. This man certainly knows how to smooth-talk. I give a noncommittal shrug. I'm not exactly in a sharing mood at this moment.

Before he can pry more information out of me, his cell phone rings. "Pardon me," he says as he turns away. "Central Park? Alright, got it." After hanging up, he turns back to face me. "I hate to run, but I've got to get back to work." He pays the barkeep for both his drink and mine. "I'm Don, by the way."

I can't help but smile. "Kathleen. And thanks for paying…"

"Don't mention it. Maybe I'll see you here again, and we can finish this at a later time." He then flashes me a smile before heading back to his coworkers. "OK kids, time to get back to work. We've got a scene at Central Park."

The group of people groans loudly before gathering up their things to leave. On their way out, Don turns back to me and gives a wave accompanied by that glimmering smile. I turn back to the bar, only to find a business card lying on the bar next to my pint. Looking at it, I laugh. It reads "Detective Don Flack, NYPD." It then lists a number where he can be reached. This detective certainly is a smooth one.


	2. Barside

**Chapter 2: Bar-side**

The next three days go just as well as the day I met Detective Flack. Frustrated beyond comprehension, I throw my briefcase against the wall of my apartment, barely missing the vase of flowers. As I walk toward my bedroom, I shed the various layers of my interview suit. Four solid days of rejection. Perhaps moving to New York had been a mistake.

"I need a beer," I say aloud to myself. I grab a pair of jeans from the floor and pull them over my hips. Rummaging through an open drawer produces a slightly rumpled kelly green tank-top. I shove my feet into a ratty pair of black Converse that I've had since college.

Five flights of stairs later, I'm out on the street, the sticky summer air caressing my skin. My feet, by their own accord, take me in the direction of the bar. There is a carelessness in my step that reminds me that my ill fortune can't last forever.

Carefree fiddle music emanates from the bar, luring me closer. I really need to stop obeying my body's call for alcohol. If I don't I'll be a raving alcoholic before I'm thirty. I pull open the door and let the music wash over me, cleansing me. My favorite spot on the bar is open, and I immediately head over before anyone else can take it.

I am in my usual seat for no more than three seconds before there is a hand on my shoulder accompanied by, "I was wondering when I would see you here again."

Turning around, I find myself looking into the ice blue eyes of Detective Don Flack. "Don, hi," I manage to squeak out in surprise.

He flashes me that prize winning smile before saying, "What do you say to some food? I'm buying."

Damn this man is good. "Alright."

Don turns to the barkeep and hollers, "Two steak dinners and beer."

"You got it detective." The beers are promptly placed in front of us, and I smile when I realize that they are Guinness.

"I've got to say I envy you right now," he says between sips.

I look at him, puzzled how he could possibly be envious of me. "How do you mean?"

"Just look at you." He gestures to my outfit. "You look comfy beyond belief. I would kill to be in jeans and a tee-shirt right now." He tugs at his suit, looking as though he wanted to shred it to bits.

Somehow, that gets me laughing. Before I know it, Don's laughing with me and the steaks have arrived. The both of us dive in eagerly, demolishing half of our steak dinners without saying a single word to each other.

"So, what does bring you to New York? I never got an answer the other day."

Damn him for remembering. I had hoped he would have forgotten during the escapades of his workdays. "It's sort of complicated…"

He looks up at the clock above the bar. "I've got time," he says casually, while assuming a comfortable lounging position on his barstool.

Over my beer, I glare at him. Don just laughs at me. So much for getting out of this. Taking a deep breath, I prepare to begin. "Well, the main reason I'm here is because I need a job. However, that's proving much more difficult than I'd ever imagined."

Don looks at me, one dark eyebrow raised. "Finding a job, hard?"

"Well, when you're a high school history teacher from Portland Oregon it's hard. In every interview I have, they always claim that I don't have enough experience to teach in the New York school system." I stab my steak with the fork in a rather violent manner.

Don gives me a sympathetic look. "How long have you been a teacher?"

I pause, trying to do the math in my head. "Six years."

"And they say you don't have enough experience? That's absurd." It's now his turn to stab his meat violently. "That doesn't sound too complicated.," he says in regards to my situation.

"There's another part… I'm not sure if I should talk about it." My voice is small and timid. I'm surprised Don can hear me over the noise of the pub. I hang my head, refusing to meet Don's eyes.

"It's alright. You don't need to tell me."

The sincerity of his voice is overwhelming. In a voice barely above a whisper I mutter, "I'm running away from my ex-fiancé." I raise my face to see Don's blue eyes turn from a happy bright blue to a dark dangerous blue. I quickly avert my honey colored eyes from the dangerous blue ones belonging to Don. "Forget it; I've said too much."

As I hide behind my wild waves of hair, I feel Don clutch my hand in earnest. "If you need anything, no matter what time of day, gimme a call. I don't want sons-of-bitches wreaking havoc on my city and especially not on my friends."

Silently I nod my thanks, thankful that someone in this enormous city is looking out for me. I blink back the tears that had formed, and force a smile on my face. Perhaps now things can start getting better. We finish off supper with no more fuss, keeping conversation topics light. Our evening is ended by Don's phone going off with a new crime scene.

"I hate to run on you…"

"I know, you've got to catch bad guys." I smile crookedly at him, and somehow I feel better knowing that he's devoted to his job. With his customary wave and brilliant smile, he leaves me in the care of the barkeep. "Jerry," I call out to the barkeep, "I'm heading home. Is the bill set?"

Jerry just waves me away. "Your detective took care of everything."

Feeling much better about my prospects in the world, I head home, a slight bounce to my step. I take the stairs two at a time; our elevator is the most unreliable piece of machinery in the world. At the end of the hall, I find that my apartment door has been kicked in. Without going any further, my hand seizes my cell phone and dials Don's cell.


	3. Broken

**The Power of Blue**

**Chapter 3: Broken**

As the phone rings, I silently pray that he picks up.

"Flack"

"Don, its Kathy. I think someone broke into my apartment." I hear him mutter under his breath, but I can't make out specific words. "Don?" Fear edges into my voice.

"Stay right where you are, I'm coming over with a CSI. Have you touched anything?"

"I haven't even gone in. I'm still in the hall." My voice then dips down to a serious tone, fear laced in every word. "I'm afraid… it might be my ex."

"Shit. I'm coming over as fast as I can. Go back and stay with Jerry." He then hangs up, leaving me alone.

I turn on my heels and bolt back down the hall to the stairwell. I run down the stairs at such an alarming pace I nearly fall flat on my face dozens of times. On my way back to the bar, I literally shove people out of my way, just so I can get to my sanctuary that much quicker. When I enter, Jerry gives me a look, but says nothing as I slip into my usual barstool.

I have no idea how long I sit there, waiting for my phone to ring or for Don to come into the bar. My heart pounds against my ribcage, threatening to escape. After a while, exhaustion creeps over me, and I start to doze.

"Kathy…" A hand gives me a shake. "Kathy, wake up."

I lift my head out of my arms, blinking the sleep from my eyes. "Who's there?" I mumble with a voice thick with sleep.

"It's just me, Don."

I sit up straighter, happy to be in his comforting presence once again. I look up at him, hopeful that he has good news to tell me.

He looks at me softly, before getting serious. "I need to ask you a few questions, just for the record." He beckons a nearby officer to come forward, and bear witness to the interview. "Did you enter your apartment at all?"

"No. I stopped about two doors away from it when I saw that the door had been kicked in."

"So you haven't touched a thing?"

"Not a damn thing." My patience was starting to wear thin. All I wanted was to be able to crawl into bed and sleep.

I saw Don take a deep breath before continuing. "One last question: what makes you think this is the work of your ex-fiancé?"

"He's followed me before," is all I will say.

Don nods knowingly, then takes me by the elbow. "C'mon. You're apartment's been cleared. Mac and Stella should be just about done."

We head back to my apartment. Around it there is a flurry of activity, as the scene processing is finished. A woman with a head of gorgeous brown curls stands in the doorway to my tiny apartment. She turns when our steps creak on the hall floor.

"You must be Kathy Williams," she says to me, giving me a bright smile and a friendly handshake. "It doesn't look like anything's been taken, but you can clarify that for us." She leads Don and me inside, staying at a distance so that I can see what happened to my apartment.

I look about, checking to make sure that things were in their usual place. Nearly everything had been flung about, but very little was broken and nothing was missing. My poor apartment looks exactly like the time my ex-fiancé had followed me to Dallas and destroyed the apartment there. I got a cold feeling when I realized that he was looking for me when he came to trash the apartments.

"Everything's here." I look hopelessly around, waiting for someone to tell me that my apartment is no longer a crime scene.

A stern looking man emerges from my bedroom, and I am immediately reminded of my father. Both men possess that ex-military service air. "You're all clear, Ms. Williams. We got some prints, so we should be able to tell you who did this very soon." I nod my thanks. "I'm Mac Taylor, by the way." He offers a hand in greeting, and shakes mine with an all too familiar military handshake.

The CSIs and officers clear out, leaving me with my apartment once again. I honestly don't know how much more of this I can take. Being pursued across the country like prey is not my idea of fun. Absently, I lean over to pick up the books that had been flung from the bookcase.

"Kathy…"

I spin around, realizing that Don is still in my apartment.

"You gonna be ok?" The genuine concern in his voice was touching.

"Yeah. Just a lot of shit to clean up." I flop onto my couch, sinking into its comfort gratefully. I close my eyes, fighting the headache that was building. The other end of the couch sinks, alerting me that Don has placed himself on the other end of my couch.

"You want any help picking up this mess?"

I wave my hand carelessly. "I'll worry about it tomorrow. I just want to sleep."

Don took that as his cue to leave. "Alright, I hate leaving you alone though." I pat his shoulder reassuringly, telling him that I'll be fine on my own. "You'll let me know if anything funky happens or if you need anything?"

I can't help the smirk that comes to my lips. "Yes, Dad." Don merely glares at me before giving me a wave goodbye. Once he leaves, I lock up the door, making a mental note to talk to my landlord about a new one. Once again I gaze at the mess, wondering just when my pursuit will end.


	4. Daring

**Chapter 4: Daring**

In the morning, after shoving breakfast down my throat, I made a proactive decision to start cleaning up my destroyed apartment. Donned in sweatpants and a tank top, I began the seemingly endless process of picking up my life. It seemed like this was all I seemed to do lately. Not since leaving Portland have I been able to move forward. Fucking ex-fiancé making my life a living hell. Why couldn't he just burn already?

I resolve that tomorrow I will resume my quest of finding a teaching position. I needed a job, and fast. My finances were getting dangerously low after multiple moves and unsuccessful job hunting. Turning up my stereo to an absurdly loud (volume that would annoy the neighbors had they been home), I move about my small apartment, cleaning in a haze of annoyance and hope.

An unexpected knock at my busted door surprises me. Looking at the clock, I see that it is past noon, so perhaps I have a disgruntled neighbor. Opening the door reveals Don, standing in jeans and a tee-shirt, looking totally at ease with the world.

"I got off work early, and figured you could use a hand."

The remark is offhand, as though he did this every day of his life. I glance over my shoulder, seeing for the first time the large bookcases and furniture that had been overturned.

"…yeah…" I stand back, allowing Don to enter.

He raises his eyebrows when he sees the state of things. "It looks worse in daylight."

"Thanks for reminding me," I quip back.

Somehow, as we put my apartment back to rights, it feels like I'm back at college again, and the cute jock from down the hall is helping me move in. Haha, right; the jocks never looked at me. I spent too much time in the library doing research. But despite the strangeness of it all, having Don here, helping me, seems to work. He exudes a casual masculinity as he easily shifts the bookcase back into its upright position.

By late afternoon, everything is back to normal, and the two of us have collapsed onto the couch, seeking respite from our work. We sip at beers I pulled from the back of the fridge and a bowl of chips and open salsa jar occupy my coffee table.

Suddenly, I find a sudden urge to go dancing. The clock says it's only 5 o'clock; way too early for dancing. But perhaps later… I ponder if I should ask Don to accompany me on my indulgence of dance. Screw it. If I don't act now, I might never get the chance later.

"Question," I blurt out.

Don quirks an eyebrow at me. It nearly kills my resolve and nearly has me in primary school girl giggles. "Answer?" he responds, a hint of confusion in his voice.

It was now or never. "How would you like to go dancing with me tonight?"

He takes a long draught of beer, and munches thoughtfully on some chips piled high with salsa. I can almost see the little hamster wheel spinning about in a frenzy inside his head. Poor little hamster.

Panicked by his silence, I plunge onward. "I'd pick out the place. All you would have to do is show up back here at about 8 o'clock ready to have some fun."

"Fun, huh? Unless you count taking down baddies, I haven't had fun in a good few years."

Success! "Then it's about time you had some, Detective Flack."

He leaves me a little while later, promising to be back at 8 o'clock. I flop back on the couch after locking the spiffy new door Don installed. My landlord had been more than willing to provide the funds for a new door after he heard about what happened, from the case detective no less.

I am amazed at the daring I have developed over the past few days. I'm actually starting to act like a normal human being instead of an-out-of-work pub crawler. I pull my laptop across the coffee table and onto my lap to do a Google search of dance clubs around town. After a good half hour of meandering through various websites, I manage to find the perfect one. I jot the address onto a scrap of paper, then head off to the bathroom for a shower.

My grandfather clock chimes 7 o'clock, and I still can't find a damn thing to wear. I kick the nearest pile of clothes in frustration, sending the top few items flying. However, my kick yields a rather interesting prospect. On the bottom of the pile is a dress I haven't seen since my senior year of college. It is a teal satin dress with a bold silver halter neckline. Praying that it still fits, I slip it on tentatively. Relief spreads through me as I realize that it does indeed still fit. The knee length skirt flares magnificently as I spin in a circle; perfect for tonight's dancing.

At 8 o'clock sharp, a knock sounds on my door. Through the peephole, I spy Don, though the hall light is too dim to tell what he's wearing. I open the door, only to find an alarmingly dashing Detective Flack. He wears black slacks and a bright blue shirt with white pinstripes. The shirt seems to intensify the blue of his eyes.

"Well hello, Detective Flack. Fancy seeing you here all gussied up."

"Evening Miss Williams," He plays along with my sarcastic greeting.

"Ready for a night out?" Don nods his agreement, and I can feel his eyes graze across my figure. It seems I shall have his undivided attention for the night. I grab my small black leather purse from the entry table and lock the door behind us.

"Where are we headed, O Beauty of the Night?"

I give Don a playful smack on the arm. I rattle off the address, and I see a playful glimmer arise in Don's eyes. This can't be good. "What?"

With a broad sweep of his hand, he says, "Allow me to escort you through the streets of my fair city, for I know a shortcut to reach our desired destination."

Oh he is so full of it. But before I can protest, he seizes my hand, and begins leading me through a complex maze of streets. By the time we reach the club, I have no idea how to get home. There was a left and a right, then a few more lefts…damn; I'm totally lost. He better know how to get home after he's had a few drinks.

"And…voila! I bring you to your desired destination." He looks up, searching for the sign. Then his mouth drops open and his eyebrows fly up. "A Latin dance club?" he asks incredulously.

"It's a quirk, indulge me," I say sweetly.

Don sighs, but his hand never leaves mine. I squeeze it, reassuring him that everything was going to be ok. We walk in and before Don can pull out his wallet, I pay the bouncer the cover.

"Did you…"

I merely smile back at him, leading him towards the dance floor. A lively salsa tune strikes up from the live band.

"You've got to be kidding!" Don cries as he watches my feet move in an intricate salsa pattern. "I've got two left feet! I can't do this!"

I throw my head back in a deep laugh. I seize both of Don's hands and pull him to the center of the dance floor. "Its easy…watch." I begin by showing him a few simple steps and asked him to mimic them. As he tried, I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. Perhaps it would be better if he stuck to chasing down baddies.

"Kathy, I've got game and I can chase down bad guys all day long, but dancing? You've got to be kidding me."

"Ok, new approach." The band had changed over to a slow waltzing classical guitar piece. I pull Don close, having him wrap one arm around my waist as he held my hand. I snake one arm around his neck and begin guiding him to the music. "Just feel the music, don't worry about actual steps." After stepping on my toes a few times, he finally got both left feet under control, and proved to have a sense of rhythm.

All night we danced, only leaving the floor occasionally for drinks and a small meal. We both have smiles on our faces that didn't want to leave. I manage to persuade the waitress, by way of a larger tip, to take a picture with the camera I had slipped in my purse. For the photo, Don stands behind me, arms encircling my waist as I leaned back, looking up at him. It was a perfect picture of happiness.

Closing time came around 2 o'clock in the morning, and we headed out into the cool night air. Don looks at himself and me before saying, "There's no way we're gonna make it back to your place. C'mon, you can crash with me for the night." He led me along the streets. Both of us are tipsy, though me more so than he. The entire walk to his apartment, I lean against him in an effort to stand upright. After a few turns, we arrive at his apartment. It's a true bachelor pad – sparse, utilitarian, and messy beyond belief.

"Ahh…don't mind the mess…" He looks almost embarrassed. But the look is there only for a moment. As he heads towards the kitchen, the look is wiped from his face.

Unsteady in my heels, I kick them off, leaving them where they land. I take two steps before I fall face first into his couch. Flipping onto my back, I let the oversized suede couch envelope me in comfort. When Don returns bearing two large glasses of water, I am nearly asleep.

"Not yet twinkle toes. Water first, then sleep."

I'm too tired to argue. Besides, my unconscious mind reminds me that if I drink the water now, I'll have less of a hangover in the morning. I accept the water gratefully, sipping greedily.

"You can have my bed; I'll crash on the couch…"

"Nah, I'll take the couch…its comfy…" I have now reduced to the speech structure of a four year old.

Don regards me for a moment, before continuing. "I'll lend you a tee-shit and shorts so you don't ruin that lovely dress." He disappears into his bedroom and returns with the clothes and a blanket. "I'll be just down the hall if you need anything." He embraces me briefly. "Night," he says after placing a kiss on my forehead, then he heads off to his bed.

After finishing off the water, I close the blinds that face the street; the bright lights will not be my friends in the morning. I slip out of my dress, not bothering to fold it up or move it aside. Pulling on the tee-shirt Don supplied, I am immediately overcome with comfort. It smells exactly like him, even though it's been recently washed. Since it falls to my knees, I forego the shorts. As I sink into the couch to sleep, my last conscious thought is of the immense security that I feel, wrapped in Don's shirt, sleeping on his couch.


	5. Shatter

**The Power of Blue**

**Chapter 5: Shatter**

_Tinkle…clink…clink…tinkle…_

The sounds of a chime enter my sleeping mind and pull me into wakefulness. I assume that my overactive imagination is at work once again, making it seem as though I was actually living my dream. But a swish of the curtains tells me otherwise. A cool breeze now filters through the window, which I know for certain was shut before I went to sleep.

Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I peer at the window, attempting to figure out why it is open. I kick off the blanket and pad on silent bare feet to the window. As I get closer, my foot treads on something almost like a pebble. I kneel down to examine what I have just stepped on. In the glow of the moon, I find little clear pebbles, scattered all over the carpet. In the middle of the pool of moonlight rests a medium sized square object.

Realization crashes through my sleep encumbered mind. The window has been broken, and what lies in the middle is what caused it. Knowing better than to touch it, I dash down the dark hallway seeking Don.

He lies in his bed on his back, snoring slightly. I pad silently across the hardwood floor as I walk toward his bed. I gently put a hand on his bare shoulder. "Don…," I whisper, "Don…" Panic starts to rise in my voice. "Don?" I give him a little shake.

Suddenly, he whips upright, throwing me across the room. I land with a thud against the wall.

"Oh God…Kathy." He leaps out of bed and kneels beside me. "I'm so sorry. You startled me." He looks at me in the moonlight. "Kathy, what's wrong?"

Not sure of how to say it, I put it as simply as I could. "I was awoken by the sound of something breaking the window."

His face hardens into a serious expression. He reaches for his cell phone and calls it into NYPD, asking for a CSI team. "They'll be here in a few," he tells me. "Did you touch anything?"

"I only stepped on a piece of glass or two…" The panic begins to surface again. Blindly, I reach out and bury my face in Don's chest. Out of sheer frustration and exhaustion, I begin to sob uncontrollably.

I feel Don lift me and carry me over to the bed. He settles in beside me, still holding on and letting me sob freely. His hand rubs comforting circles on my back, lulling me into a calmer frame of mind. A knock comes at the front door and I jump in surprise.

"Shhh…its just PD. Stay here; try to get some sleep. I'll handle everything." He walks out of the bedroom to answer the door. As I watch him walk out of the room, a little giggle rises in my throat when I realize that he is going to answer the door in nothing but his boxers.

Faintly, I can hear him talking first to the PD then to a different man. I recognize the voice as belonging to Mac.

"Did she touch anything?" I hear Mac ask.

"She said that she only stepped on a piece of glass or two," Don replies.

"Can I talk to her?"

"I'd rather you didn't. She's a bit unsettled and I've got her trying to catch some sleep. I can have her come into the lab tomorrow, if that's alright." Don's tone has a slight pleading edge, which is uncommon for him.

Mac is silent for a few moments, almost as if he was seeing if allowing this would be a breach of protocol. "That'll be fine. We'll be out of here as soon as possible."

I do not hear Don's response as I slip off into sleep. I bury myself into his bed and blankets, seeking to rebuild the security that had been shattered not long ago.

When I wake in the morning, I am alone and curled up in a little ball in the middle of the bed. The blankets are tucked around me, and there is no sign that someone had slept beside me. For a few moments, I am unsure as to how I ended up in Don's bed, but then the events of last night come to the forefront of my mind. Then, through the fog of a hangover, I force myself to crawl out of the warm bed and seek Don.

As I walk down the hall, Don's tee-shirt helm brushes my knees. The bathroom and office are dark, so I head towards the living room. This too is empty, leaving me with only one other option: the kitchen.

Entering the kitchen, I find Don hovering over the coffee pot, already dressed in a suit for work. He turns and gives me a lopsided grin before saying cheerily, "Morning." I merely groan in response as I sink into a chair.

"Well aren't we a little bubble of happiness." He places a steaming mug of coffee and a bottle of aspirin before me. "Take two and drink the whole mug," he orders in his most stern detective voice.

"Yes, sir," I grumble. I pop two into my mouth and wash them down with a mouthful of coffee. I immediately make a face at the taste of the coffee. "Where did you learn to make coffee?"

"Cop school."

I quirk a disdainful eyebrow at him. "No wonder you call this disgusting sludge coffee."

Don chooses to ignore my comment. "When you're alive, I've been asked by Mac to bring you to the lab so he can ask you a few questions." He eyes me carefully. "Why don't I first take you home so you can clean yourself up."

"Am I not pretty enough for you, Detective Flack?" 

He gives my shoulders a rub with his strong hands. "You're just fine for me. But I don't think Mac would appreciate you smelling like stale alcohol and my cologne. He might get a little freaked by it."

"Mac, freaked?"

Don lets out a deep laugh. "Come on you snarky wench. Throw on a pair of my shorts and collect your things."

Miraculously, my things were not touched or taken by Mac when he came to process the scene last night. I pull a pair of Don's basketball shorts over my hips and slip on the only pair of shoes that I have. I know I look absolutely ridiculous in the tee-shirt, shorts, and heels; Don's horribly repressed laughter confirms it.

Don walks me up to my apartment. Before he leaves he says to me, "Whenever you're ready, gimme a call and I'll bring you to Mac's office." I nod and turn away to open the door, but Don's hand on my arm turns me around again. He has the most curious expression on his face, like he can't figure something out. Then, he simply flashes me a smile before heading down the hall. Shrugging off my own confusion, I go into my apartment and make a beeline for the shower.


	6. Truth

**Chapter 6: Truth**

After about an hour of drowning myself in the shower, I feel a bit more awake and less hung over. Wrapped in a towel, I wander into my bedroom, pondering what would be acceptable attire for seeing Mac on a matter of business. I settle on my favorite skirt suit, and pair it with a bright orange blouse. I dressed professionally to perfection; there is no way that I can be criticized for not dressing properly.

Once feeling ready, I fish my cell phone out of my purse. Don's number easily comes to my fingers as I dial. "Don…when you've got a few spare minutes, I'm ready to go see Mac." He tells me he'll be right over.

Ten minutes later, Don's pounding on my apartment door.

"…Kathy…?"

"What, you forget who I am just because I'm in a suit?"

"Just wasn't expecting it."

"Nice try." I grab my purse on the way out and settle myself into the passenger's seat of his squad car. The ride is mostly silent; the radio occasionally stating the movements of other units.

In a brusque and professional manner, Don guides me through the glass halls of the Crime Lab. I get the feeling as though I'm a suspect, though for what exactly escapes me. He deposits me outside Mac's office without a word before leaving for a crime scene. _Great. My once source of comfort has just left me. _

"Miss Williams, you can come in."

Keeping my spine as straight as I can, I walk into Mac's office. It reminds me of the times I would be called into my father's office because I had done something wrong. There is both comfort and fear knowing that both my father and Mac had been Marines.

"Please sit." He gestures to the chair directly in front of his desk. Numbly I obey. "Miss Williams, I'd like to discuss with you the events of last night."

I look him straight in the eye, just as my father had made me do when I was young. "Then allow me to tell the whole story from the beginning. Yesterday, I was putting my apartment back together after the break in. Detective Flack came by to give me a hand after his shift. That night, we went out to a salsa club. We were both a bit tipsy so instead of walking me back to my place, he brought me to his. I fell asleep on his couch."

"But you were in his bedroom when I came in last night."

"I went into his bedroom after I had been woken up by the window breaking. I was scared; I needed someone to comfort me."

Mac's questioning of me took over an hour. Each time he questioned an action, I could feel myself getting more and more angry and frustrated.

"…you were in Don's bedroom. Your dress and shoes were out in the living room…"

_What is he trying to say? _Then it hit me; he assumed that I had slept with Don. I have had enough with this cold treatment. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the whole CSI team lingering outside of Mac's office.

"How dare you," I growl angrily. I rise from my chair and begin to pace angrily. "How dare you even assume such a thing."

"What have I assumed?" His cold even tone is too much for me to handle.

Without meaning to, I explode. "How dare you assume that I slept with Don when I didn't! I first slept on his couch wearing one of his t-shirts, then in his bed. Not once did he touch me in any sexual manner at all. He put me in his bed last night so you folks wouldn't harass me after I had just been frightened out of my mind!"

"Why would you be frightened by a window breaking?"

"Apparently you haven't done your homework if you have to ask that question." I pace back and forth like a caged animal, not caring about the crowd outside the glass office walls. "If you had looked into me, you would have found that wherever I go, such an incident always occurs. Want to know why? My ex-fiancé. Ever since I broke off our engagement, he has pursued me across the country, harassing me in any way possible. So forgive me for turning to the one person in this whole damn city that I know for comfort." My last line is a verbal slap in the face for Mac.

In my emotional state, the truth easily pours from my lips. "He has done this over and over again. He was the one who trashed my apartment three days ago; I have no doubt about it."

Mac looks at me with a different expression now. To me it seems that he has realized that he crossed a line. "How many cities?"

Mentally I count the number of cities that I've lived in since I broke off the engagement. "New York is number 6."

"For six cities he's pursued you?"

"San Diego, Phoenix, Chicago, Nashville, Dallas, New York." I sink back into the chair, suddenly exhausted. I just want the whole fiasco to be over. I'm sick and tired of being afraid and having to move repeatedly. Sighing, I bury my head in my hands, overwhelmed by the truth of the predicament. If my ex isn't found soon, he'll probably kill me.


	7. Gratitude

**The Power of Blue**

**Author's Note:** I'm terribly sorry for the absurdly long delay in this undate. I finished school three weeks ago, but work as taken over my life. My sincerest apologies. I hope that this chapter is not a dissappointment to those of you who have waited for this. With that in mind, I present to you chapter 7.

**Chapter 7: Gratitude**

"Miss Williams, I realize this is a hard situation for you, but I need you to answer a few questions about your ex-fiancé for me."

I lift my head out of my cupped hands. In a tired, yet forceful tone, I reply, "I'll answer nothing until Don's available to bear witness. He alone knows how much my ex terrifies me." I do not lie to Mac; Don has witnessed first hand the absolute terror that gripped me when I felt something was the work of my ex.

From across the desk, Mac gives me a look something akin to annoyance. "Miss Williams…"

"Detective Taylor…"

Mac looks towards the door and I follow his gaze. There stands Don, looking quite livid.

"I will not have you interrogating Kathy. You've no damn reason to treat her like fucking suspect." He comes over and stands behind my chair, placing his hands on my shoulders. "She's a chronic victim of a bastard who'll do anything to get back what he feels was denied to him. If you had seen the terror I had seen in her eyes last night, you would understand what I mean."

"I need to do my job, Don."

"Your job does not include harassing victims." Don gently grasps my elbow, pulling me up from the chair. "Until you remember what your job is, I'm taking Kathy home." I stand, refusing to meet Mac's gaze. Placing a protective hand at the small of my back, he guides me out of Mac's office. Before we're completely out, Don turns back and looks Mac straight in the face. "If Peyton were in Kathy's place, what would you do?"

A stunned look comes across Mac's stoic features. His eyes look past Don and I, falling on a woman who I can only assume is Peyton. The rest of the team shifts uncomfortably, knowing that Don has just said the one thing that changes everything about Mac.

Once inside the sanctuary of his squad car, Don turns to me and says, "I'm sorry for how Mac treated ya."

I lace my fingers with Don's. "It's alright. It happens everywhere I go. No one seems to understand what this does to me." I bite my lip, unsure if I should continue with what I want to say. One look into those gorgeous blue eyes tells me I'm safe. Unfettered by fear, I continue with more courage than I've had in over a year. "You're the first person who's understood how much this terrorizes me. Until I met you, I lived in constant fear. Every time I walked down the street, I felt as though someone was following me. Every time a door slammed, a window broke, a person bumped into me on the street… every time I was so scared that it was him. Don… you've given me back my life. You have no idea how much this means to me."

I was unaware that I was crying until Don wipes a hand across my cheek. As best he can, despite the cramped and awkward space of the squad car cabin, he wraps his arm around me and lets me cry. I feel him stroke my hair, lulling me into a calmer frame of mind, much like he had the other night. Once my sobs turn to quiet hiccups, he draws away and silently starts the car, never letting go of my hand.

Though the ride is silent, it is a comfortable silence. I find it ironic that in the city with the most anonymity, I have found one person who actually gives a damn about other people. Arriving at my apartment, we head up in silence, but content knowing that it is not anger but gratitude that keeps us silent.

Once inside, I kick off my heels and flop onto the couch. Don steps in, closes the door, then mimics my actions.

"I thought you're still on the clock."

He cocks his head to the side, giving me a conspiratorial lopsided grin. "I am. This time will go on the books as victim protection."

I laugh. "Donald Flack, you are one wily fox."

"Besides," he adds, "how else am I gonna manage a nap on the job?"

This earns him a smack on the arm. "What will your superiors say?"

Another conspiratorial grin. "What they don't know won't hurt them." He swings his long legs up onto the couch. "C'mere." He seizes me by the hips and pulls me close, settling me in beside him. "Naps are happiness. How can you resist napping with someone as devilishly handsome as me lying next to you?"

I pull on his tie playfully, but offer up little protest. Instead, I settle in, preferring to use Don's chest as a pillow instead of an actual one. Within minutes I'm asleep, without a care in the world. _I could get used to this…_

A few hours later, I wake, and Don is still lying on the couch snoring lightly. I laugh quietly to myself, untangling my limbs from his. I pad down the hall to my bedroom where I slip into a pair of jeans and an old college t-shirt. Walking back out to the living room, I find Don still snoring. _Apparently he doesn't sleep at night._ When the clock on the wall tells me that its half past five, my stomach growls loudly, begging to be fed. I rummage about my kitchen and decide upon some spaghetti and meatballs. Once everything's ready, I walk over to the couch and give Don a nudge.

"Don…supper."

"What?" he asks me sleepily.

"It's six o'clock. You need supper before you head back to the precinct."

He sits upright and blinks at the clock. "I need to sleep more at night…" he mutters himself.

"C'mon; I've got supper ready. It's nothing spectacular, but its food." I tug at his tie, forcing him to rise from the couch. He follows me to the kitchen where he promptly throws himself into a chair and looks expectantly at his plate. I give a small chuckle before filling his plate. Greedily he shovels the pasta unceremoniously into his mouth, grunting in appreciation. "Cavemen have better manners sometimes…" I mutter under my breath.

After we've finished, Don looks at me then his watch, an apologetic smile on his face. "As much as I'd love to stay, I've got to get back to work." He is silent for a moment, and I sense he is considering something. "Do you think it'd be alright if I came back when my shifts over? My window's still broken…"

"It's fine." I pull a spare key out of a carved wooden box. "Here's the extra key. Just let yourself in when you come back."

He takes the key from my hand, but his hand lingers on mine for longer than absolutely necessary. "You gonna be alright alone for a few hours?"

I wave his concern off. "I'll be alright. I've survived this long, haven't I?"

He says nothing. Instead of turning away to walk out the door, he steps closer to me, his blue eyes darker than usual. Wordlessly, he lowers his mouth to mine, catching my lips in a perfect tender kiss. Before I have a chance to respond, he leaves me standing in the middle of my apartment, front door closing behind him. Stupidly, I stand there, blinking in confusion at my door. Then, a high-school girl giggle escapes my lips unbidden. Grinning widely, I return to the kitchen to clean up, counting the hours until Don gets off shift.


	8. Visit

**The Power of Blue**

**Author's Note: **I'm terribly sorry about how long it's taken me to get back to writing again. But things have begun to straighten themselves out, so I should be back to my usual rate of production soon. I would like to thank all of you whom have stuck by this story and me. Hopefully, even though much time has passed, you will still stick with this story. And now, without any more delay, I present the next installment.

**Chapter 8: Visit**

Restless, I pace my small apartment glancing at the clock every single time I pass it. I know that as a detective, Don's hours are more than a little irregular, but he should be here by now. Frustrated, I throw myself onto the couch. As I begin to drift off into fitful sleep, I hear the sound of a key scratching at the door. A few moments later, it opens, allowing a disheveled Don to enter into my humble little apartment.

"Don, what happened?" The pitch of my voice rises, bordering on hysterical.

He looks over at the couch were I sit. "Kathy…what are you doing awake"

"Couldn't sleep. Now answer the damn question."

"Had to throw a few guys around. Nothin' major." He looks at me sternly, yet as his eyes roam my face, his expression softens. "You've got an interview lined up for the morning. Go sleep. There's no need for you to interrogate and worry me."

Reluctantly I head towards my bedroom. At least he's here now. From behind me I hear him say, "I'll be there in a few." Slipping into a tank-top and shorts, I crawl into my bed, leaving the lamp on the nightstand on so he doesn't trip over my cluttered floor. For a few minutes, I lie lazily in the bed, watching the curtains flutter in the night breeze. I feel so much more at ease, knowing that Don's just down the hall. Too many nights of my life have been ruled by fear. Perhaps my moving to New York and meeting Don is my sign that its time to stop being afraid.

As my eyelids drop, something soft slips across my mouth. "Don, did you forget to take off your tie?" I ask sleepily.

"I never forget," replies a voice that is not Don's. My eyelids fly open. Even after all of these years, I still know that voice and it frightens me. A gloved hand clamps over my mouth, squashing all hopes of screaming to alert Don.

"Why did you leave Kathy? I loved you. Loved you more than any man could ever dream of loving you. But you left. Why did you leave your loving Kyle?"

I struggle against the firm hold he has on my body. There's no hope of trying to scream; his hand is clamped too tightly over my mouth. Desperately I search my room for something to aid me. As my eyes scan the room, they fall on the glass lamp on the bedside table. Thrashing violently, I try to create enough motion to knock the lamp over. In a few anxious minutes, I kick and thrash, pushing myself past the point of exhaustion. One more violent kick has the desired effect. The glass lamp flies off the table and shatters against the wall. The sound is deafening as the room is plunged into darkness.

"Kathy?" Don calls. "Kathy, what happened?"

"Little bitch," Kyle whispers in my ear. His hand slips away from my mouth and is replaced by some sort of gag. In the darkness, I see the glint of what can only be a blade. My fears are confirmed as it begins to dance across my skin, cutting little pathways that begin to ooze bright warm blood. Helpless, I whimper, hoping that some form of intervention comes.

Almost instantaneously, my hopes are answered. "Put down the blade and step away from Kathy."

"Now why would I do something like that?"

The gun in Don's hand clicks as he releases the safety. "I have the gun."

Kyle stands, releasing my from his grasp. "No matter. I'm the one who loves her, so I shall be victorious. Just be gone so I can reclaim my bride."

"Don't think so, scumbag."

Kyle straightens his spine, and turns to face Don fully. "You have no right. She's my wife."

Don laughs dryly. "You never married her. She's not your wife. But I can give you two very good reasons why you're going to drop your weapon and step away from Kathy slowly."

"Oh?"

"One: I love her. Two: I'm a cop."

Kyle's resolve falters and Don's words distract him. Slipping from the bed, I carefully make my way towards the shards of glass that lie scattered across my bedroom floor. My fingers find a shard and close around it tightly, so tightly that it cuts into my palm. As Kyle stands staring stupidly at Don, I creep back behind Kyle.

Knowing this is my only chance, I take the shard of glass and slice it across the arm that holds the knife. The knife falls harmlessly to the floor, and Kyle whirls around to face me.

"Bitch!"

As though slapped, I stumble backwards and fall onto the bed. Kyle moves towards me, Don crosses the room in a few easy steps, grabbing Kyle and forcing him to the ground. The clinking sound of metal tells me that the handcuffs have been slapped across Kyle's wrists.

But this is of little consequence to me. My fragile mind has shattered and I sit on my bed, bleeding and shaking. I have watched all of the past few minutes with detachment. Every emotion that I have felt in the past few years comes flooding back, invading the last bit of my sanity, reducing me to a shattered shell of myself.

Vaguely, I hear Don pick up the phone and call into the precinct and the crime lab. Wordlessly, he sits on the bed beside me, wrapping me into his arms. There are so many things that I want to say, but cannot. Instead, I lean against him, shaking, crying and bleeding, waiting for the ambulance.


	9. Confrontation

**The Power of Blue**

**A/N: **Sorry it has been so long. Life has taken over with a vengeance. Here's your next installment. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 9: Confrontation**

The next time I open my eyes, they are assaulted by bright lights and eerily sterile hospital walls. I look down and find that my hand has been bandaged, and feels as though the rest of my wounds have been tended to as well. I pull myself up into a sitting position, feeling the ache of lying in a bed for too long.

The door to my room swings open and a woman, whom I can only assume is my doctor, walks in. "Ah, Ms Williams, good to see you awake. When the ambulance brought you here, you were nearly catatonic. How are you feeling?"

I give the woman what must be a scathing glare. "How do you think I feel? I was just attacked by my ex-fiancé in my own home. Not to be disrespectful or anything, but I honestly think that you don't need to ask me such a question. I've already been psychologically traumatized by this creep for years, so one little event isn't going to cause much more damage. So you can forget your usual arsenal of questions. Is there anything of consequence that you'd like to discuss?"

"I didn't believe him at first, but now I know exactly what he means."

"Who?"

"Detective Flack. He said you were quite the little spitfire, but I couldn't believe it." She shakes her head. "Well, you've certainly given me a tongue-lashing to remember. I'll say all of this simply. Since you're completely coherent, I don't see any reason for you to hang around. As soon as we've arrange for someone to come get you, you'll be released."

A smile dances across my lips. "Now that's more like it. I really don't mean to be rude, but I really don't like hospitals and I'm not on the brink of death."

The woman laughs. "It's all right. Most patients put up a fuss if they don't like being here. I thank you for being honest. Is there anyone you know who can bring you home?"

"Call Det. Don Flack. I'm sure he'll be willing to oblige. And if he can't he'll get someone from the Crime Lab to come get me."

The doctor leaves the room after a nod of understanding. I settle back, more than ready to get out of this god forsaken place. It's not long before I see a familiar dark head of hair walk through my door.

"Don!" I cry out, relieved to see him once again. I've gotten rather used to having him around.

He walks forward, and places himself on the edge of the bed. "You're looking well. The doctor says that you can go home." His eyes scan my face. "Are you sure you're ready to go home?"

I regard him with a sober expression. "My recovery will go much better if I'm home and not cooped up in a strange smelling hospital room. I've been dealing with this for years on my own; I'd like to keep it that way." I pause for a moment, wondering if I should say what I want to say next. I decide that this might be my only chance, so I go for it. "Don, did you mean what you said last night, when you came into the room to confront Kyle?"

He blinks at me. Clearly, he didn't expect me to remember that part of the night. He takes me hands in his. "Kathy, I meant everything wholeheartedly. I realize that we haven't known each other for a long time, yet I feel like you've always been a part of my life. I'm not one for sentimentality, but I really want to have you around. The next couple of days are going to be tough. I'd like to be the one to stand beside you as you go through it all."

I am truly touched by his confession. Don is a man of action, and not one for flowery words. Yet here he is, unashamedly pouring his heart out to me. Seized by sudden emotion, I wrench my hands from his and throw my arms around him in a tight hug. Somehow, it manages to say everything that neither of us can.

"I brought you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt of mine. I couldn't get to your things because they're still processing the scene."

I laugh heartily. "You're clothes are preferable to this ridiculous hospital gown." I ease myself out of the bed and walk over to the bathroom. "Gimme a sec and I'll be ready." I close the door behind me and free myself from the gown.

Don takes me home to his apartment where I sleep happily curled up in his arms the entire night. True to my word, I do fare much better at home with him.

Days pass by, a wonderful swirl of well wishers from the crime lab and quality time with Don. But finally, the day comes when I must face Kyle again. Dressed comfortably in a pair of jeans and a tank top covered by Don's NYPD sweatshirt, I head over to the crime lab.

"Miss Williams, good to see you on your feet."

I turn around in the hall to find Mac leaning against a wall and regarding me carefully.

"You do know it's alright to call me Kathy…"

Mac shifts uncomfortably. "Perhaps once this case of yours is over we can be on friendlier terms. I have a habit of distancing myself."

I nod in understanding; my father does the same thing. "Where am I going today?"

"You're going to be watching Kyle's interrogation."

"Isn't that against protocol?"

"You're the only one who knows his moods. You'll be the best judge of if he's telling the truth or not. There isn't going to be a trial because he's wanted for many other crimes besides stalking you."

I shrug, still not comfortable with watching an interrogation from behind the glass. I follow Mac's stiff back down towards the interrogation rooms. Outside one of the doors waits Stella, who gives me a huge, gleaming smile.

"Kathy! Great to see you up and about."

"It feels good to move around again."

Stella opens the door for Mac and me. "You ever witness an interrogation?"

"Never. I'm sort of uncomfortable with it…"

She pats my shoulder reassuringly. "It's going to be fine. That bastard Kyle's gonna get the worst of it. He's got your man Don interrogating him." She smiles crookedly, knowing full well the bond me and Don share.

I look into the interrogation room and see Kyle sitting in a metal chair in front of a desk, facing the one way glass. There is a hard glint in his eye. He thinks he can get away with what he's done. When Don enters, there is a malicious glint of hatred. Kyle's body tenses, threatened by Don's easy posture.

"Kyle Langston, you are here under questioning about the attack on Kathy Williams." Don takes off his suit jacket and places it on the other chair.

"That bitch belongs to me. You have no right to question me. I did what I felt was necessary to remind her that she belongs to me." He sits back in the chair, trying to assume a casual, unthreatened pose.

I soon cease to hear the words that both men speak. I watch only their actions. Kyle is trying his hardest to appear innocent. Don paces angrily, clearly pissed at Kyle for what he's done to me. The two men battle verbally for hours, neither one of them giving sway.

Suddenly, Don seems to snap. His hand slam onto the metal table. I can almost feel the vibration through the floor. The next thing I see is Don seizing Kyle by the shirt and flinging him against the hard cement block wall. An all out brawl erupts between the men. They punch and kick and thrash at each other with all their might. Blood begins to flow from both of them. I cannot silence the cry that rips from my throat. I collapse against Stella, overwhelmed by the scene in the interrogation room. Mac flees our side of the interrogation room and enters Don's side with uniforms. They pull the two men apart and escort Kyle from the room back to his holding cell.

Mac reenters with Don. "What the hell was that all about?" Mac demands.

Don's blue eyes are hard. "You know exactly why I snapped," is all he will tell us. He then turns on his heel and stalks out of the interrogation room.


	10. Resolution

**A/N:** I just wanted to give a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story and offered me support. It is the kind words from people like you that keep me writing.

**Chapter 10: Resolution**

Seized by anger, I follow Don out of the little room. "Donald Flack!" I holler down the hallway. "You WILL come here and answer me!" I put my hands on my hips and glare at him from the opposite end of the hall. Oh, if looks could kill – or at least maim.

"What?" Don asks in a tone of exasperation.

"Don't 'what' me in that tone of voice. I will not have you losing your job on account of me! What the hell happened in there?"

Don chews the inside of his lip for a few moments before he answers me. "The guy's an even bigger creep than I thought. His obsession with you is…absurd. He has himself convinced that you are the only person in the world for him and that the world is giving him signs that you need to be together to restore balance to the universe. Or some other bullshit like that."

I roll my eyes. "Figures. Kyle was working on a degree on conspiracy theories and their philosophies when I first met him. It looks like he finally found one to believe in." How the hell did I ever get myself tied up with this piece of pond scum? On a sudden whim, I turn around and walk towards the interrogation room.

"Kathy….what are you doing?" Don's voice has changed from severely pissed off to overly concerned.

"I'm going to finally lay all of my demons to rest." I push open the door to the interrogation room where Kyle still sits. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Don go into the room where I had been watching from minutes before.

The moment that I enter the room, Kyle's head snaps up and a fearsome smile cracks across his face. "Ah, Kathy. I knew you'd come back to me."

"Shut the hell up Kyle." I have finally reached the breaking point. "I'm not going to take your crap any longer."

"Kathy," he practically purrs. "That is no way to treat your husband."

I slap him hard across the face. "You are no husband of mine! I never married your pathetic ass. I don't even know why I agreed to the engagement."

Kyle turns his head slightly. Just for a moment, I can see the charming man he once was back in college. Now his face is shadowed by something dark. "You agreed because you know you are the perfect complement to me. Its there in your genes."

I freeze mid-step. In my genes? My mind races frantically back to our college years at Washington State. "The tests…." I whisper. Suddenly it all comes back to me. Kyle had used all of his friends as guinea pigs. It seemed like every week he'd ask for a new sample of saliva. "Oh gods…" A perfect picture comes up in my memory of a sheet of test results I found once.

Wild eyed, I spin around and face Kyle. "You think I'm a perfect match because one of your tests revealed that I carry no genetic mutations at all. I am neither carrier nor transmitter of genetic diseases. But, here's what was more important to you." The shame of what I am about to reveal to the people who have been helping me all this time becomes unbearable. Nevertheless, I know that I must continue forward and lay everything out. "You found out one day that you and I are distant cousins. I'm not sure what theory you've lost your mind to, but whatever it is, it has you convinced that you must find a pure relation."

"See Kathy, I knew you would see my side of things."

Enraged, I grab him by the hair and slam him onto the metal table. "I'm not done." I look him right in his haunted eyes. "It's over. You will never follow me again. You will never hurt me again." Once I say those words, it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

The cops enter the room and take Kyle away. His screams of protest do not even reach my ears. My smile is bigger and brighter than it ever has been. Stella walks in and simply smiles at me. Mac nods gravely, relieved that the ordeal is over. Don on the other hand, sweeps into the interrogation room and wraps me up in a bone-breaking embrace.

"Its over…I can't believe its over."

Don kisses my forehead. "You have your life back."

Quietly, I see Mac and Stella leave the room.

"You know, it's weird. I've been on the run for so long it became natural. I don't think I remember what I normal life actually is." I laugh a little bit at the strangeness of the situation. "After wishing for normalcy for so long, now that I have it, I don't know what to do."

Don flashes me his trademark roguish grin. "Well, I think the first step would be to move in with me."

"Why your place?" I shoot back playfully.

"Well, I do have the bigger apartment…"

"One condition."

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Conditions? You've just resolved a traumatic life experience and you're already demanding conditions?"

"You let me redecorate. Your place is far too bare to be livable."

I can see Don's terror recede. "Is that all? I think I can live with that. What are some of the colors you were thinking of?"

"You know," I say fingering his badge attached to his blue blazer, "blue has become my new favorite color. I think I might use some of that somewhere." The smile on his face tells me that he knows exactly what I am talking about.

And there in that interrogation room is when my life began


End file.
